An interview with “Joe”: tragedy and homelessness
By Jacob Vorpahl
Back when I first started giving out these sack lunches, there were a few regulars I picked up on real quick. There was one who almost always came in drunk and usually didn’t know quite where he was and a few others who didn’t quite look homeless, but played the part pretty well. There was also a group of guys that came in regularly who just seemed beaten down by the world and were looking for a way out. One of those guys was a man we’re going to call Joe.
Joe’s not his real name, though. I’ve called him by his real name for the last year and a half but today I can’t. As a matter of fact, when I told him I wanted to take his picture and he found out why he almost canned the whole the interview. I had to promise I wouldn’t show his face. He doesn’t want his identity out there. Some might stereotypically think it has something to do with the police, but they’d be wrong. It’s something far more complex and tragic.
How I first met Joe
I make small talk with some of the homeless people when they come in and Joe is no different. It never usually goes past simple pleasantries with some gripes about the weather and lack of jobs, but one day with Joe it went a little further. He came in some time ago somewhat excited but downtrodden. He had a chance to get a job doing construction work on some condos getting built in downtown Jacksonville, FL, but he needed a pair of work boots in order for them to let him work. He mentioned it conversationally, got his bag, then left.
For some reason, I wanted to do something nice for Joe to lift his spirits. I didn’t have the money to go out and get him a pair of boots but I did have a little bit of money to get him some food. I went down the road a few blocks to a nearby Panera Bread and, after making sure they’d let him come in to use it, I bought him a $20 gift card so he could get himself some decent food.
Joe came back the next week to pick up his lunch and I presented him with the gift card. He paused for a moment, and then began to tell me how much he appreciated the gesture. It couldn’t have come at a better time for him because he needed a “pick me up”. See, it turns out he was able to get a pair of work boots and was going to start his job the next week. The only problem was that someone had stolen his boots along with some other items where he had hid them and now he was back to square one. He smiled a whole lot, shook my hand, then left in a much better mood.
I went and talked to my boss immediately after that and they graciously offered to buy him another pair of work boots. They told me to go find him, pick him up, and take him to Wal-Mart. I did, and we got him some boots, and he was dumbfounded about how everything had transpired. He started his job and I saw him for a few weeks afterward when he came to pick up his bag. But then he stopped coming. He said he had started to get back on his feet. It seemed as if Joe was heading towards a Hollywood-style, feel good, success story.
Then a couple of months ago, Joe started coming back in for bag lunches. He didn’t say what had happened, and I didn’t ask. Maybe it was hard times with the economy slowing and those condos completed, maybe it was something else. I let everything be. That was until I decided to dig deeper into this homeless issue in Jacksonville. I chose Joe to be the first person I’d talk to because I really wanted to know what happened. I had no idea his story would turn out the way it did.
Joe’s history and descent
The man you know as Joe used to have a good life. He remarked to me that had things gone the way they were going, we never would have met, and he’s probably right. He was married, had four children, a home, a career in the Army and nothing weighing him down. It was one of the few times since he’d joined the military that he wasn’t struggling to raise his kids and had his family all in the same place. Joe said that he and his wife finally had things going well. It was supposed to be a really happy time.
Everything changed December 23, 1984. The Army was getting ready to transfer him to Jacksonville from overseas to start recruiting duty. He and his family were visiting in North Carolina when he decided to take a trip down here to see his new duty station and he brought two of his daughters with him so they could visit their aunt. They were making the return trip when tragedy struck.
He remembers every detail of what happened, down to the exit number where the accident occurred. He tells me it happened in a little place called Waterboro, GA, off Ext 53, I-95. He was driving along the interstate with a car on his left and behind him was a logging truck that had lost its brakes. He tried to slow down to let it pass between the cars, but he says it must not have been enough. When he came to, the car was on fire. The truck had hit him from behind.
He got out of the flaming car and went to save his girls. He was able to get the first one out, but when he went to pull out the second, the seat belt was jammed. The flames were very intense at this point, and before he knew what was happening, a state trooper grabbed him and pulled him out of the vehicle and held him away, trying to protect him. He had to watch and listen as his little daughter died in the flames.
Joe was never able to mentally or spiritually recover from the accident. He ended up getting medically discharged from the military, “chaptered out” as he put it, and he eventually left his wife. He stopped caring about people and became angry at God. Never before a drinker, Joe said he took up alcohol because it would “pamper” and “pacify” him. At one point, he’s sure he didn’t shower for more than 2 months. “I wasn’t interested in doing anything but what I was doing and I didn’t know what I was doing.” He says he started feeling sorry for himself and couldn’t get a grasp on things. He didn’t even know who he was. He didn’t care about personal hygiene or even food. “The only reason I didn’t kill myself is because I think I still knew about fear.”
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